…Or, Just Adopt a Highway
Somewhere in the middle of my extended list of flaws is my tendency to be smug about the things that I overly understand. I am the self-proclaimed Queen of Snapple facts and correcting literary misconceptions. I never miss an opportunity to push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, and in a nasally, debate team voice say, “um, actually, Chaucer’s genius was not in plot composition. He politely stole most of his narratives from Boccaccio and his themes from Dante. Chaucer’s unique talent was mining the religious and political implications of previously composed Italian and French epic poetry and showcasing the disproportionate effects through characters of varied social classes. So.”
And if one more person cites Robert Frost as their inspiration for taking a “gap year,” or quitting a secure corporate job to open a brewery or a bait and tackle shop, I’m going to scream. Y’all. He did NOT mean that you should take the “road less travelled.” What Frost meant was, it doesn’t matter what Goddamn road you take, you’re fucked; I’m fucked, they’re fucked, we’re all fucked. It doesn’t matter if you take the interstate to “fucked” or the footpath to “fucked”—you’re fucked. That’s my poetic disclaimer for the day-- you’re welcome.
Its fine, I hate me too.
You would think that sobriety would have humbled me and would kibosh my constant need to correct people, but… uh… no. In fact, it has opened the door to an entirely new subject where my immersion has shown me the glaring truth instead of perpetuating common misconceptions. For instance, the use of the term “crackhead” is massively disproportionate to the number of “crackheads” that are actually roaming around these days. In fact, the use of cocaine in either powder or rock form has decreased by half since the year 2006. The phrase “crack is whack” is quite legitimate. Crack is so whack that even seasoned addicts are like, “yeah, no, I can’t deal with that shit anymore.” I have quite a few Narcotics Anonymous meetings under my belt, and never once has someone spoken up to list their DOC (drug of choice) as “crack.” Actually, I hear more about cocaine in Alcoholics Anonymous meetings than in NA meetings. Apparently, booze and cocaine go together like chocolate and peanut butter.
Since I love correcting people so much, I thought I would take this opportunity to correct myself. I fear that I have been over-perpetuating a myth. I do my best to—not “defend”—but empathize and elucidate the desperate, complicated process of starting with a mental health struggle and ending up in the deep well of addiction. However, that particular battle is not true of all addicts. It breaks my heart to say this, but some—maybe even most—of the addicts I’ve met are truly just narcissistic ghouls.
I’ve hinted at it, but I’ve never spoken plainly about my love/hate relationship with Twelve Step programs. They have been lifesaving for millions (yes, millions) of people over the decades. They came about at a time when alcoholism was a widespread problem in practice, but a myth in its explanation and origin. As an organization, they are steadfast in their purpose to attract people to sobriety and provide the tools and assistance to help them achieve it. Support groups can be problematic in a lot of ways, but that has been corrected by the sheer amount and types of groups that now exist.
I know exactly which groups to attend depending on what I am dealing with on a daily basis. If I want to dig deep into the philosophy of AA and get into playful, respectful debates, I go to the Literature meeting where I am the only girl and the only person under the age of 50. If I want to fade into the background and practice my embroidery while listening, I go to a topic meeting on zoom. If I want to cry and receive overwhelming support and understanding about the fact that I’m 30 and divorced and I may never get to have children even though I don’t even think I want children and I feel abandoned and all I ever did was try my best and how angry I am at all the men who put their hands on me without my permission and told me that it was all that I was good for or that it was my fault that they assaulted me because I use dirty words sometimes so when I said “no” they decided I meant “yes” and how mad I am that my father died right when I needed him most and how jealous I am of my sister for being so successful and better looking than me and all of this bullshit is piled on top of the fact that I can’t drink myself pretty or secure anymore... Tuesday Night Women’s Meeting.
Before I nested in my chosen groups, I had to do a lot of trial and error. In doing so, I was forced to meet a lot of alcoholics who are just plain assholes. They don’t get it. When I say “it” I mean the fact recovering from addiction has very little to do with what you are addicted to, and everything to do with assessing and repairing your mentality from top to bottom. The assholes just want to blame everyone and everything else, except their own pesky reflection.
All addicts go through a phase of outward blame. I did. I blamed everyone and everything else for my issues before I was an alcoholic, when I was a practicing and unaware alcoholic, when I was an aware and compliant alcoholic, when I was a struggling-to-quit alcoholic, and for a short time when I was first sober. A switch flips, though. Or it should, at least. There is a reason I put so much emphasis on being “sober” versus being “in recovery.” Sober means you aren’t drinking. Period. Being in recovery means that you have accepted that you are a flawed individual with a destructive coping mechanism. You have taken on the project of fixing what you can about yourself, embracing what you cannot correct, and vowing to attack both tasks every single day with ambition, gusto, determination, and never, never with the poison.
Some sober people cannot and will not accede to the arduous process of recovery. So, they blame. They whine. They make excuses. In the process, they make the rest of us look bad. Because the ones who blame/whine/excuse their addiction are also the ones that never shut the fuck up about it. “I work all day. I’ve worked for 40 years. I should be able to have a few beers at night.” “I had a miserable childhood. My father beat me.” “My wife left me.” “My children hate me.” “I’m a grown man, I can do what I want.” “I’m 60 years old, I’m retired, can drink if I want to.”
Yes. People come to meetings to SAY THESE THINGS. Its almost as if they are surrounding themselves with alcoholics to falsely prove to themselves that they aren’t alcoholics. “I could quit if I wanted to.” Yeah. Ok, Dale. If you say so. Even worse, there are sober people who use the same excuses. “All hail me, who remains white-knuckle-bitter sober every day, even though the world has given me every reason in the world to drink. I am a saint. I am a God. I am perfect, everyone else is terrible, but I somehow stay sober anyway. You’re welcome. You—yes, you—girl I have never met before who I call ‘sweetheart’ and ‘Princess.’ You are welcome for my existence.”
It kills me to admit this, but my father fit into a category of alcoholics that bother me too. The ones who blame alcoholism itself. I know my Dad. He would have moved Heaven and earth to change the way that his addiction affected his girls (the three of us, Mom included.) Not a single part of him was alright with the way the ten foulest years of his addiction went down. Despite how miserable it could be in those dark times, there was never a moment when I doubted that my father loved us and wanted desperately to change. I honestly couldn’t tell you what finally made him break. I wasn’t in close proximity when he converted to sobriety, because my mother did what good mothers do and got her babies away from the unpredictable drunk.
My father got sober and stayed sober. He was always the King of the “show” not “tell” apologies, and that was fine with us. Frankly, being sorry is a lot more honest and productive than saying “sorry.” My sister and I reign in that kingdom now. Still, he became the “it’s a disease” alcoholic and those alcoholics bother me to no end. It eschews accountability. More than that, it puts emphasis on the wrong things and I had to become an alcoholic myself to understand that. Calling alcoholism a disease is, first of all, offensive to people with diseases. Secondly, it spreads the false idea that someone is an alcoholic just because: alcohol. My father used to take every opportunity to force upon my sister and I that we had to “stay away from alcohol. Stay away from alcohol. Stay away from alcohol.” What he should have said was, “deal with your personal issues, become secure with yourself, talk to me if you need someone to talk to. Don’t let your fears, your anxieties, and your pain take over your existence. If you give in to the darkness, you won’t be able to stay away from alcohol.”
To be fair, I don’t think my father really understood how deep and tangled the roots of addiction grow in a person. My Dad was intelligent, but he was a product of a generation where “feelings” were a luxury item. So, he ignored his feelings. In his recovery, he did a great job of owning the “accept the things I cannot change” bit, and that’s a hard one to master. My Dad also used to scare me with his resolve that he would “sooner die than ever drink again.” It isn’t scary anymore. His baby girl gets it, and his baby girl feels exactly the same way.
Since I cannot even defend my own father’s brand of sobriety, I hope no one can ever accuse me of defending all addicts. I can’t and I don’t. I can only defend the people in recovery who own their mistakes and work diligently to fix what they can, and (hopefully) avoid causing more chaos in the future. It’s a delicate balance.
I know it’s confusing for addicts, especially the ones who are truly hurting from past traumas, to say that there is no one to blame but themselves for their addiction. It feels like we are letting someone get away with murder. However, accountability is not an either/or situation. The way that we have been treated by other people, or the universe itself, cannot be a justifiable reason or excuse to drink. At best, our traumas can be considered catalysts for why we have such an intense hatred for ourselves that we turn to substances to patch our gaping wounds. Addiction is not attached to our traumas. Addiction is a cheap way that we dealt with trauma. We either didn’t know how or did not want to do the work to soothe our suffering in a healthy way. So, that’s on us.
To further clarify, I will employ one of the few cliches that I agree with: “Keep your side of the street clean.” You have to do the right thing. You have to handle your trauma in a positive way. You have to bite down on the leather strap and give yourself the sutures, no matter how badly it hurts. Why? Because no one else can do it for you. And neither a Band-Aid nor a bottle is going to fix it. This isn’t about who is right and who is wrong, this is about you being ok enough to get on with your life.
No, its not fair. Neither is life. That is radical acceptance that comes with adulthood for both addicts and non-addicts. That is also why it is so infuriating when a grown man cannot give up the temper-tantrum of “its not my fault that I’m an alcoholic.” Sir. If the 30-year-old girl that you call “sweet pea” instead of by my fucking name can handle this fate, so can you. I’m looking down the barrel of being eternally an alcoholic (with no alcohol) and no guarantee that there will be punishment for the people that shoved me into that ditch of despair. More importantly, I can accept that it doesn’t matter what happens to them. It matters what happens to me. If I can’t keep it together, everyone who loves me suffers. When I fixate on the pain I’ve endured at the hands of the careless, I lose control of myself. That can’t happen anymore. I also can’t defend the addicts who continually defend themselves. It doesn’t help them, it doesn’t help me, it doesn’t help the cause of addiction recovery.
I am the poster child for the fact that not all methods of recovery work for all people. I can be supportive of any addict’s technique as long as the drive and the intent are right. If you don’t think you should have to get sober because (….), you’re wrong. End of story. Nobody said you have to forgive and forget the people who you are currently blaming for your problems. They probably do deserve some blame. Just back-burner them while you work on you. Once you are unassailable, then you can point fingers—how’s that for a deal? Like Robert Frost said, “I took the road less traveled by, and kept my side of it clean. That has made all the difference.”
